Impulse
by TapesAndRecords
Summary: "Hold me close and be as quiet as you can, Ziva." Tiva, One-Shot. Not really that fluffy.


Wow, I'm actually posting this. I had a whole fluffy thing laid to the side, but I figured it could wait. XD For those interested, _Airport _should be updated soon.  
This is a little different to what I usually write, as a little warning if you think I've gone a bit weird.

Disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you tie your hair up, put on cargo pants and parade round the house in a long coat, wearing a black backpack you dragged out of your wardrobe, pretending to be Ziva.

Listening to: Somebody that I used to know, by Boyce Avenue.

* * *

Dust kicks up underneath their feet as they enter the crumbling wreck of a building, their shadows stretching out over the ground. Sunlight reflects off their guns, casting glistening patterns over the walls and the ceiling. The silence puts them both on edge- an artificial stillness that seems like it could shatter at any moment.

They walk in step with each other, stiff-framed but with an air of grace that others would find tricky to accomplish. It's an art they've mastered over the years- bobbing and weaving in time with the other-, and their finely-tuned senses are sharper than ever.

The building is seemingly empty, despite their being on high alert, so they release their previously-held breaths and search the premises.

Crates, caked in dirt and splintered at the corners, line the vast space, the occasional sheet of fabric draped over and covering one or two.  
Large bags, stuffed full of clothes and money, are dumped haphazardly on top of the crates, crushed and overflowing in many cases.  
Nails and screws litter the floor, some by rust-colored stains or dripping puddles, and some by white scratch marks that have somehow originated.  
A pool of dried blood sits directly in the middle, the rest of the room set-up round it- cordoning it off somehow. They know whose blood it is; they know why it's there. They even know who made it so. They just don't know _where _that person is.

.

He sighs, wiping his hands on his trousers as yet another rusty nail chips away onto his palm. Standing- his own way of giving up- he walks toward a stack of crates. The pile is the highest in the room, with many bags making it stretch higher than normal.  
He sees his partner, knife out, slicing down the side of yet another wooden box, and casts her a sideways glance.

She keeps her focus on the knife in her hand, and he notes sadly that she's still annoyed at him.  
They had a fight this morning. A _big _fight.

He's fiddling with a bag when he hears a creaking footstep, and he jerks his head to see his partner standing bolt-upright, her hands clenching round her weapon instinctively. Noting that she's bound to pounce sooner or later, he reaches out as quietly as he can, plucking the knife from her hand and pushing it in amongst the clothes in front of him.

She glares at him, but he lets it go, hoping she'll forgive him later. Sliding his hand into hers, he drags her round so they're both hidden by the crates blocking their view. Her hand tightens in his, but he pulls her a little closer, whispering an extremely quiet order.  
"Hold me close and be as quiet as you can, Ziva."

He slides his arms round her shoulders, pulling her flush with him and resting his head in the crook of her neck. She jerks momentarily, but soon wraps her arms round him, too, and burying her face into his chest.  
Were his heart not beating quite so loudly, he would have heard the quiet, content hum that she emits into his shirt.

But it is, and he does, and it happens.

.

She feels his hand clutch hers, and she's about to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing in this kind of situation, but she realizes he has a plan. He _must _have a plan. Otherwise, he's just put her weapon down and is holding her hand. Whilst someone creeps round the room, probably armed.

Despite their fight this morning, her heart is pounding as he gently pulls her closer, positioning them so they are both obscured by many boxes. She notes he's hidden her more than himself, but says nothing of it. Unknowingly to her, her hand clenches in his, and he moves her even closer, doing nothing to help her racing pulse.

He whispers a quiet demand that makes her head spin in wonder, then wraps his arms round her.  
She breathes in tightly, stiffening in his grasp because he's _holding _her. His hands are placed so possessively; protectively, that her legs begin feel weak and her heart picks up even more- pounding a mile a minute. When he rests his head by her neck, she feels him breathe in deeply. And of all things, that's what gets her to relax.

She slides her arms under his jacket and round his waist, pulling herself to him, then rests her head on his chest. Against all her better judgment, she moans contentedly and quietly, into the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't seem to notice, though. Just keeps his arms round her and her pulse racing.

.

Their hearts are both speeding as they hold each other, silent and hidden from the world and whoever's walking round the building. The echoes of their breath may sound loud to them, but are actually quiet, if slightly ragged. And so, the person looks at a box or two more, and leaves, creaking footsteps and all.

They remain in their position for a moment longer, though. Some could say it's because the mysterious figure could reappear. Some could say it's because they were savoring the moment.  
It's neither.

.

Whoever's been casing the place leaves eventually, and he feels her slump a little in his arms. Gathering himself mentally, he looks down, fully prepared to let her go. But when his eyes lock with hers, he sees a smoldering darkness within them. Deep, burning emotion, that makes his hands drift lower and rest by her hips. She looks down, and when her gaze returns to his, it's heated impossibly more. By now, he knows his eyes must be looking pretty similar, and she slides her hands round from his back, to his waist, fingers catching on his belt loops.

He twists his head slightly, lowering it at the same time, and she moves in too.

.

She hears the retreating footsteps and sighs. They're both in the clear again. And it's at that point, after she lets the tension go, that she realizes the situation.  
He's holding her, making her heart race, and breathing deeply, so much that she wonders if he's smelling _her_, like she's doing currently, breathing in his scent. That, combined with her speeding pulse and the fact he's been so protective, gives her a sudden urge to kiss him.

He pulls away from her, and she looks at him. Something flares up in his eyes, and she looks away momentarily. When she looks up again, however, she finds his face incredibly close, his breath misting over her face. And he jerks his head, and she realizes he wants to kiss her too.  
There's no way she'll stop that from happening.

Their fight from this morning suddenly seeming irrational and pointless, she moves closer, her eyes fluttering shut. He closes the gap, and their lips meet. Gentle, soft, beautiful.  
And his cell phone rings.

.

He groans, and moves back to answer it, knowing better than to ignore the call of duty.  
"DiNozzo." he says, kissing Ziva's temple and keeping his arm round her.

_"Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?"_

"The address you gave us, boss."  
He grins as Ziva looks up in shock, and silences her by kissing her again as their boss continues talking.

_"I've just been there, DiNozzo. Where were you?"_

He has to tear himself away from his partner to utter a one-word reply of "Boxes."

They're told to get their asses out there before Gibbs kills the two of them.  
Two quick kisses later, they comply.

.

He shows up a little after eight, and she greets him with a genuine smile. The look he offers in return, however, forces all rational thoughts from her mind, and she's only just shut the door by the time he has her pressed up against the wall.

She wonders if it's all moving too quickly, hours later, as they lie in bed. Sweat still clings to them and heat radiates off their skin, but he's long since been asleep, and now she finds time to think.  
Their fight was over him. And how she thought he was still acting like a person half his age. He took offense, and they hurled insult after insult at each other whilst sheltering in the elevator.

She regrets that fight, in all honestly. But if it is what lead to her current situation- lying next to Tony, his arms round her, his lips still resting on her neck from their position as he fell asleep-, she's rather glad it happened.  
And yes, there are obvious flaws between them. And Gibbs will fight against it like there's no tomorrow. And they'll argue and fight.  
But that's what they do.

So lying in bed, coated in warmth, cradled in arms, covered in thoughts, she makes a decision. To stay by her partner's side for as long as he wants her to.  
And she really hopes that will be a long time.

Either way, she's perfectly happy right. Content _and _happy. And that's wonderful; and that's Tony. And she loves him.

* * *

Thoughts? I'm still pretty unsure on this right now.


End file.
